


Smoke Fades in the Light

by Poker



Series: Girl Genius Event Week 2019 [5]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Being a Dreen gift isn’t fun, Gen, Poisoning, Smoke Knight Training is not kind, Unreliable Narrator, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21010052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poker/pseuds/Poker
Summary: Dreen gift are known for their invulnerability. If they’re lucky, they stumble through the world and learn something. If they’re not, they are molded into something more useful.A guard who cannot die.





	Smoke Fades in the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Some vague mentions of death, some violence. The narrator is a bit all over the place from the strain.
> 
> Oct. 10: Original characters
> 
> Also extremely noncanon for Dreen gift universe. If this becomes an actual fic, I’m doing a lot of editing. Probably would be heavily changed, but I decided to post it anyway.

The Dreen gift was well softened up by the time they brought them before the Master.

Their eyes flicked from side to side, assessing slow and clumsily. Most Smoke Knights appeared on the first glance, but not the second. If the gift could even see them, eyes blurred from being inside a dark cell for months.

“Oh, good. We just lost the last one.” The Master said. “Heart bigger than his sense of duty, got statued on their first mission. And the one before that didn’t last a day in the cell. One will hope you will be more intelligent.”

The Dreen gift maneuvered themselves into an awkward crouch. “I can’t tell you anything.” They said. Dumb defiance. Most of the gifts were like that in the beginning.

“As useful as it is, not what we are planning for you.” The Master said. They smiled, slow and poisonous. “You should count yourself lucky your type performs well when we can get them trained.”

“You’re hunting the Dreen gift.” Like it was difficult. Even if they got changed out of their ridiculous clothes, the Smoke Knights had webs everywhere. 

“You act like it’s a shock. I suppose your pretty little precognition doesn’t tell you anything.” The Dreen gift hunched their shoulders, but didn’t lunge. “Tell me, do you know how useful it is to have a Smoke Knight that can actually be smoke? Invincible, knowing, and loyal.”

The Dreen gift reared back, clearly horrified, a hand coming up to cover their mouth. “But you only do that to cousin families.” 

The fuzziness in their eyes had returned, their skin had gone pale and drawn.

Who were they viewing? The insolent girl who never came out of the cells? The man who suffered the poisons until the temporal powers of the Dreen gave in, leaving him a statue? So many stories.

“So true, but we’re willing to take advantage of it when it’s thrown in our lap. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” The Master waves a hand. “You might even survive.”

“Those are human lives!”

That would be the last thing to go.

The Master was too dignified to roll their eyes. “Take them to their training. We’ll work on poisons first. See if they survive.”

The Dreen gift was smart enough not to fight as arms suddenly closed around their shoulders, dragging them out of the room. But they looked like they wished for it, even with eyes clouded by warnings.

The Dreen gift didn’t give their name, and nobody cared for it anyway. Dreen gifts didn’t get the use of their names unless they survived and were useful.

Even so, it felt like the only victory they had. The only secret they managed to hoard away, even as their other secrets were laid bare with cruel precision.

* * *

Poison could not kill a Dreen gift. It did not mean immunity however.

They shuddered on the floor, form fuzzing in and out of existence. Their skin was pale and wet with sweat as they suffered.

“If you can’t survive this, there’s no way you’ll make it through the next level.” They were useless like this, death instant without the gift of the Dreen.

Even fuzzy, the Dreen gift had enough strength left to bare their teeth. “Next time, I’m not trusting the food.” It had been a stupid mistake, and one many of the washouts had made. Most didn’t survive it.

“You’ll eat eventually.” Through force or desperation.

A fully trained Smoke Knight could go for weeks without food. This Dreen gift would be lucky to make it two, and they had plenty of motivators to use before that.

The Dreen gift didn’t answer then, resting their head on the cool floor and gritting their teeth against the pain.

They refused to eat the second time. They ate the third time it was offered however, and the Master made sure that since they felt confident to forgo the second level, they started on level three for the next.

The Dreen gift took the food after that.

They didn’t even get a chance to fall the sixth time. A brutal kick swept out their legs, a single step would have crunched their rib cage if it wasn’t for a spasm of reality.

“You will be expected to fight now.” A boot hooked under their prone form, flipping them over. “Fighting through poison is an essential skill.”

“Go fuck yourselves.” Everything was growing hazy with pain. 

“It’s your choice.” That choice hung in the air like a weight. It wasn’t a choice. Jump into the river to drown or get dashed to death on the rocks.

The second time, they rolled to avoid the kick, sending a wild strike towards the Knight’s ankle. It would have earned them a broken wrist, hand the answer not clipped through their arm.

“Bad form. This is how you do that.” A hand brutally raked along their side, distorting reality around it. “It’s more potent to lace your fingernails with poison, for additional effect.”

The Dreen gift would have spat at them, if they still had control of their mouth.

Anytime the Dreen gift failed, the right move was demonstrated on them. They learned fast, but their body was a mess of bruises that the temporal shift had left behind before long.

Sometimes, poison was forgoed entirely. The Dreen gift would wake up to gravity dropping out from under them. They flailed wildly the first time, fingers failing to catch on the rough rock of the wall.

Those times hurt the most, the swift crunch at the bottom. 

Some nights, they stared at the dark ceiling and wished for instructions. Or permanent statue. At this point, the madness of eternity seemed like a paradise.

The disgusting part was they almost craved the praise when they got it right. The third time they fell, they had managed to catch onto a gargoyle perched in an alcove, hooking their hands on it even as the sharp teeth dig into their skin.

The Smoke Knight was perched on the head because of course. “That was good thinking.” They nearly smiled at the praise before realizing it was congratulations for not dying so quick.

As if reminding, the Smoke Knight stomped on their fingers, and the swift crunch soon followed.

They disassembled their rudimentary cot several times to provide a warning system. It got reassembled to attack them instead. The Dreen gift didn’t try again until the traps started to come of their own volition.

On days when they successfully escaped punishment, they got breaks. Actual books, full of poisons or trapping plans, but books all the same. They were good at memorization.

One day found them in the Master’s labs, carefully balancing three bubbling beakers.

“Dropping those will kill you.” The Master said, stirring the concoction bubbling on the hot plate. “Or it would, if it could.” The dreen gift hummed, their voice still ruined from screaming. Not answering would have been worse.

They leaned back, ducking a lazy swipe that would have knocked the beakers askew. Another swipe, idly tapped one beaker, spilling it out over their lap. Their shabby pants began to smolder.

The Master sighed, setting the ladle aside. “You’re tired, aren’t you.” Obviously disgusted. The dreen gift flinched back. “We’re training that out next. Smoke Knights never sleep.”

They got training for that this time, to deal with bad habits.

It still got them an electric current to the face when their eyes drifted closed. The scream ruined their voice again. The Dreen gift worked harder at mastering the techniques after that until they could go long periods without rest.

It was smart not to fight. But how smart was that?

Back home, less time for sleeping would have been fun.

Here less sleeping time just meant more time for training. They slept in shifts now, back pressed against the wall, ready to wake up at the slightest sound. Choosing the wrong time to sleep meant electricity or a beating.

“Doing this means your lord will be dead.” The Smoke Knight drifted away, even as the temporal tremors stopped. “You’ll thank us for this.”

The Dreen gift didn’t answer, forcing their way up to standing. Almost enough to block the kick at their stomach, but the tremors sent them sprawling. Learning was painful.

And sometimes, the lessons were so painfully normal.

They rearranged their sleeves for the thirtieth time, checking in the mirror. Not a hint of the knives in their sleeves, or the poison along their belt. At least to their eyes.

“Almost perfect. I can see the cork stopper.”

They bit their lip, hands already going for the buttons. Every once in a while, fighting lessons were left aside for dressing. A lot of effort went into the Smoke Knight look. The dark cloak felt heavy on their shoulders. It made them look like any of the Smoke Knights. Like if they didn’t look away, they’d fade away entirely.

A hand smacked their fumbling hands away. “You might want to keep that on.” The other Knight was already drifting away. The Dreen gift stared into the mirror, debating if it was worth fighting for it. For not actually looking like a Smoke Knight.

They kept it on. Their cell dropped to -10 degrees that night. Smarter not to fight.

It tasted like defeat, even as cold water splashed across their shoulders for the early wake up call.

It was harder to sneak in the cloak, to move fast and swap weapons. But it muffled their movements, obscured their form. There was reason in the madness.

Sometimes, they considered trying to slip away into the labyrinthine hallways of the manor. Then a kick would crack against their kneecaps, sending them sprawling across the floor.

How long had they been here? Months? Years? Did the Dreen just not care? Or was this just some sort of sick game?

They liked to pretend it was just months. Small nuggets of praise came more often these days. The Dreen gift actually got a smile when they had managed to ghost behind their instructor, swapping their weapon for a harmless ribbon.

It hurt how much pride had burned in their stomach.

One night, a new sound brought them standing, already drifting away from their sleeping spot. The cell door was unlocked and they shifted nervously, glancing at it.

The crack of a gun in the distance.

Escape was impossible. And the Smoke Knights rarely used guns. Far too loud.

Curiosity had drawn them to this world and it was that which pulled them out of their eternally dark cell. Their eyes adjusted faster now to the dim light. The corridors were empty. Actually empty now.

A few hallways brought them closer to the sound. Only a door separated them.

It was only habit that smothered the flinch as it banged open, revealing a wide eyed soldier. Shabby clothing, hair shorn short, and gaunt from lack of food.

“Monster.” He hissed. The gun came up to aim at them.

Intellectually, they couldn’t die. 

But emotionally, they really didn’t want to. Dying was painful and scary.

The kick slammed into the soldier’s hand with a crunch of bone. He howled, dropping the gun. They stepped in range, slamming a palm into their nose. Wet blood coated their hand.

His face was a mess when he fell to the floor.

He didn’t stand again.

_Those are human lives!_

They wished they could feel more than numb. Instead, they could only think about the time that one of the Smoke Knights had done that to them. It hurt. They didn’t die.

It felt like something had grown around their legs, rooting them to a spot. Staring at a ruined face. Who was he, anyways?

A cool hand dropped on their shoulder, pushing them out of the fog.

“Good job.”

Of course it was a test. When was it not?

The only thing they could do for the man was never forget his face. They carried it around with them, behind closed eyes. Why had he been there? He didn’t look like anyone they recognized from the comic.

Then again, nothing they had seen in the comic helped them here. Violetta and Tarvek had been mostly flippant about their skills. The comic didn’t show retching in the small hours of the morning from hidden poison or racing from a construct monster as it tore down the hallways.

The comic didn’t matter here.

After the death, they had more missions. More deaths. They remembered whatever they could from each one. Sometimes names from a bill as they slipped poison into tea, or a coat of arms from a bloody signet ring.

They just felt so numb.

It was standing in a foyer, drifting their hands through papers detailing battle plans, that another vision finally unveiled itself.

G̸̭͙̠̗ù͕̠̼̭a͏͎̼̗̙̝͔͖r҉̭d̰͙̪̯̤͚͈ ̷̞̜H҉į͔̭̗̱͕m̢̹͍̬͖.̸̩͇̹̱ ҉̦̟̪H̝̼e͈̩ ̛̫͓S̖͉̺͙͎̫̕ͅh̪̪̝̹͎̞a̦̮̥l̳̣̖̩̼̞͜l ̩̥͈͇N̳͚͕̻̗o̡̥͚t̡̖̤͙̠ ҉̱̭P̙͈e̴̙r̳̫̙͕i̳̲͇s̢̰͚̪̗͖̣h̨

“That’s it?” The Dreen gift whispered into empty air. “All of this, just for that?” They wanted to scream.

If they screamed now, the house would wake. And that meant killing them, if necessary.

They were very tired of that.

It wasn’t a surprise they were led to the Master’s offices as soon as they walked past the gate. The Master was slicing open a ruined construct, hands deftly wielding the scalpel.

“Thirteen missions. A good number.” They said, not even looking up from the corpse. The Dreen gift didn’t leave the shadows. There were five other Smoke Knights in the room, drifting like mist.

Even if they could make it through them, the warning tremors in their hand told them they’d never succeed.

Smarter not to fight.

“One of my family branches just lost a Knight. Again. I’m sending you, because I’m tired of losing guards. You know the price of failure.” Poisons until the Dreen’s patience ran out.

“Where to?” Their throat hurt too much to do more than whisper. The Master smiled.

* * *

A form in the shadows, leaning against the wall. The last was barely in the ground by now.

“Name?” He liked to remember them. 

“Nox.”

It was just a name, after all. No point in hiding it.

**Author's Note:**

> Nox May get a proper story in the future that’s actually within canon lines. Depends on how long I can get a proper world that actually fits in Dreen gift canon up and running.


End file.
